


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by BoldlyGaying, Brona, Shiku



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGaying/pseuds/BoldlyGaying, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brona/pseuds/Brona, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiku/pseuds/Shiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy Unwin isn't the same man he was before. The events of V-Day left him scarred, or more precisely: the death of his mentor Harry Hart tore him apart. Although his friends and family worry about him, Eggsy doesn't want their help. His condition worsens every day. To ban Harry from his thoughts and to block out that the older man was much more that a mere supporter, Eggsy falls back into old patterns. His life is hanging by a thread.</p><p>Everything changes as Eggsy suddenly receives a dubious text message one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Don't go where I can't follow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637245) by [Brona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brona/pseuds/Brona). 



> This is Brona's first fanfiction and I'm translating it into English, because I think that it is too good to be read only by German-speaking Kingsman fans. I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Please note that English is not my first language and that there will be a lot of mistakes, so if you notice them, please tell me so I can edit the text.

Fluttering Eyelids. His mouth opened, lips hungry for oxygen, as if he wanted to get drunk on it. He felt powerful when his lungs were bulging at the seams with air, the cold air swirling around him like water. Little wrinkles appeared around the corners of his mouth; he smiled. Something that he thought he had lost the day Harry Hart died. If Eggsy had only been a little bit more conscious, he would have felt regret. Every little stirring of happiness felt like a betrayal, as if he had forgotten Harry’s death, as if he’d forgotten Harry.

Regardless of how much Eggsy’s mum tried to make her son smile in the past weeks, the majority of her efforts stayed futile. Every once in a while, Eggsy forced himself to lift the corners of his mouth a little - just to push away the idea of a therapy - but it stayed a meaningless curved line in his face. Eggsy’s eyes were full of grief, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Everyone who looked more closely would have noticed his charade, but most did not. They didn’t know what further steps would follow; it overwhelmed them. His mother sensed that her son had changed and that something riled and tore him up inside, something he didn’t want to talk about. The fear of Eggsy distancing himself further just because of a probing question kept her from asking. So she accepted the empty smile Eggsy put on just for her when leaving his room. Every time they said goodbye, she took him into her arms – longer than normal. It was her way of saying: _I know_. And Eggsy rested his face on her shoulder, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he left. Smiling.

He really tried hard. It took all of his strength to function for his mother and for Daisy. Both of them were more or less dependent on him since Dean did a runner. For the first time he had to follow his father’s footsteps – still too big, still too intimidating – because this family needed him. _His_ family. There was no room for weakness. Tears wouldn’t help to pay the bills or to find a Kindergarten for Daisy in a better area.

This is why there had been only one possible way for Eggsy: Harry’s death and his feelings for him - this grief pulsing deep within him, like a tumour, suffocating him every time he took a breath – all of this needed to gone. It wasn’t enough to ban it all in the darkest corner of his soul.

But the thoughts stayed. Harry Hart was ever-present. Like a ghost of his broken heart he couldn’t expel from his head, Harry stayed a part of him. And with him, memories which Eggsy didn’t need, didn’t want and couldn’t handle, resurfaced. A man in a suit in the streets of London was enough to knock Eggsy’s breath from his lungs, as if he received a punch in his guts. When he talked to his friends and they told him their silly stories, Eggsy pictured for himself how he would retell them to Harry, making the older man chuckle – until reality gripped him tight and replayed the shot in front of the church like a film in his mind’s eye. It didn’t stop. It never would. So he left.

Every night he snuck out, just when the small flat was filled with the calm sounds of his mother’s and sister’s breathing. Not making a sound, he tiptoed outside, his cheeks still salty from the silent tears coming over him when he tried to sleep. Eggsy went wherever his feet took him. If they took him to River Thames he would have dropped beneath the torrents without any resistance. He knew what drowning felt like; he wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

He took another breath of the fresh air and kept his eyes closed. Eggsy spread his arms, even if he knew how theatrical and pathetic that was, but he wanted to _feel_ this sensation of flying. And even if it was just the feeling of being alone in the night, it laid a world full of possibilities at his feet. To forget – right here he could do it, above the rooftops of London and just a step away from a jump into the depths.

Hesitating, Eggsy brought his right hand to his mouth and his fingertips scratched over the little smile in his face. It was real. It hurt. A suffocated laughter spilled from his lips – _how often did he laugh with and because of Harry, how often had they joked together or had quarrelled about silly little things, just to forget about it because of a tiny crooked smile._

Reality came back and its punch was hard and unforgiving. He felt how suddenly every last bit of air disappeared from his lungs and he stumbled. The deep beneath him – a sea of light and colours – appeared in front of his eyes before he flailed and managed to shift his weight. At full tilt, he fell backwards. Pain shot through his spine as he hit the roof unbridled. The smile he had given Harry so often before his death was gone. Eggsy rolled over, his shaking fingers fumbling in his face. But he only found his trembling lips he couldn’t keep still. No smile. And Eggsy started crying.

Eventually – he had no idea how long he had laid there and cried – he felt his mobile stubbornly vibrating in the pocket of his trousers. No matter how bad he felt and what moods he was going through, this was one of the things he never ignored. Eggsy knew he would never forgive himself if his mother called him in case of emergency and he didn’t pick up because he was busy crying on a rooftop like a little girl. As he fished his mobile out of his pocket and held it in front of his face, he noticed that it was neither a call, nor a message from his mother. It was a text message. And it was the sender that sent a wave of electricity through his body. Eggsy sat up straight now, his hands clutching the mobile which suddenly seemed to have gained weight. His eyes were still staring on the screen while a soft voice chuckled in his head: _That’s it, now you’ve gone completely mental._

The sender was Harry Hart.


	2. Nightcall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m giving you a nightcall to tell you how I feel  
> I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear  
> I’m gonna show you where it’s dumped but have no fear  
> \- London Grammar; 'Nightcall'

Only when a bitter and metallic taste spread on his tongue, Eggsy realised that he had bitten his lip bloody. He let out a bunch of uncontrolled curses which made not a single person in the “Black Price” bat an eye, above all at three a.m., when just the drunkards who were struggling to keep their eyes open were still loafing on the chairs.

“Fucking crap,” Eggsy hissed and swung backwards on his chair bevor darting forward again, pressing his elbows on the sticky wooden table top. For some reason, he was feeling dizzy. Looking at his clenched fists, he realized how much he was trembling in every limb, shaking because of adrenalin rushing through his veins. He would have very much liked to blow off steam the good old way: a quick shoplift or a reckless brawl. Anything the old Eggsy would have done to get rid of the remaining energy which was making his thoughts squishy and giving him silly ideas. In this moment, Harry would have shot him a disapproving glance, his forehead peppered with tiny lines of worry and anger.  And yet it was Harry who put him into this mess in the first place. Dammit.

No, actually, Merlin was to blame for Eggsy hovering about his mobile in a dirty pub, nervously kicking his legs. He couldn’t sit still. He needed to get through to Merlin and talk with him about this message. He needed to know if it really was sent by Harry or if somebody was in a joking mood. If the latter should be the case, he would so beat the living daylights out of them – like the old Eggsy. The problem was that Merlin didn’t answer. It was three a.m., a time at which a gentleman probably did not make any calls, but shouldn’t Merlin understand that it was an emergency when he saw Eggsy’s number on the screen? He had set a foot in the Kingman office only one time after V-Day, after all: to return the tailored suit.

With the knowledge that it had been Harry’s last favour, his last present to him, Eggsy had hung it on the door of his closet and had stared at it until he couldn’t stand it anymore. They could make handkerchiefs, rags or god knows what out of it; he didn’t care. Everything remembering him of Harry had to be removed from his life. Just like Harry had been removed. To wipe Kingsman off his memory had been the only logical consequence. Roxy and Merlin had both occasionally called and checked up on him, but he had never been good at small talk. And frantically talking about the fucking weather or some games and exchanging witty anecdotes “from thence”… that was something he couldn’t do. Eggsy preferred to keep silent. And this silence had slowly but surely distanced him from the only two persons still connecting him to the secret service.

Harry’s chair was empty. Galahad needed a new successor. Soon there would be new young spies-to-be dominating Merlin’s everyday life. It was merely matter of time until all contact with Eggsy would be severed. Maybe it already was. The young Briton bit his lip again, defying the blood and the dull pain. It was better that to snarl and curse at his mobile like a drunken maniac. He reached out to press the button for redialling, but his hand froze in the air, just a few centimetres above the mobile. His dirty fingers had left a greasy film on it, only hidden by the shadow cast by his hand. It was 3:24 a.m. _Crap._ Eggsy touched the green handset, lifted the device to his ear and started to wait once again. By now, his feet were bobbing up and down so strongly that his beer was swashing from side to side in his glass just like during an earthquake. Ringing. A hollow ringing, mocking him, leaving him alone with his thoughts in this depressive silence in which he was chased by questions and contradictions. Merlin was the only person who could bring light into the darkness. With every further ringing, Eggsy’s fear of Merlin giving up on him and blocking his number was increasing. If that was the case, his calls would never get through and ever-

“Eggsy,” a soft, exhausted groan filled the emptiness.

Eggsy’s heart skipped a beat and a weird, numb tingling sensation was spreading in his fingers – nervousness, not unlike his first day of training.

“Merlin!” Eggsy gasped out breathlessly and his voice almost cracked. “Fuck, Merlin, do you know for how long I am trying to reach your phone?” His former anger made room for the joy of finally being successful.

“Let me guess,” Merlin started and Eggsy thought to hear how the Kingsman sat up in his bed. “Five times?”

“So you noticed my calls and just _ignored_ them?” Suddenly, he was perfectly calm. Even his twitching under the table had stopped.

“ _Eggsy_ ” Just his name and this chiding undertone, as if explaining something to a small child for the tenth time. “I just left the office at two o’clock and need to be up and about again in-,” a small pause, during which Merlin probably checked his watch, “-two and a half hours. To catch at least a little bit of sleep, I programmed my private phone to only let calls through after the fifth try. If it’s important, one doesn’t stop so easily – just like you proved right now. But to be honest, you’re the only one still using this number and after the past few months… I didn’t expect hearing from you, Eggsy. Not to mention at this ungodly hour.”

Eggsy couldn’t help it; he smiled and his eyes automatically and uncontrollably began to water. Harry would have said the same thing, he thought. _Harry._ Yes.  
No apology, nothing. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes and lowered his voice.  
Just an urged and fast: “Harry. Merlin, it’s about Harry.”

He heard Merlin taking a deep breath on the other side of the phone. No ‘ _Oh God, what happened’_ kind of breath, but the start of a heavy and sad sigh.

“Shouldn’t you better speak with a psychiatrist about this, Eggsy?” Merlin’s voice was soft and certain, but Eggsy understood the hidden meaning behind the words: _It is enough, Eggsy._ Silence spread out. That had hit home. Eggsy fought the urge to drop his mobile, stand up and just go. It didn’t take long for Merlin to realize his mistake.

“Eggsy… I… I am sorry. I did not mean it like that.” Whatever had kept Merlin until now – the stress and tiredness were suddenly clearly audible in his voice. “You know that you can talk to me anytime something bothers you.”

“I’m not calling to whine about some fucking nightmares, Merlin. It _really_ is about Harry.”

In a sudden touch of paranoia, Eggsy cast a glance to the side and looked over his shoulder. Everyone present was still staring into their beer glasses or busy talking to themselves. Merlin’s impatientness came forward before Eggsy could resume talking: “How do you mean that?”

“Merlin, I got a text from him. Or, at least it was send from his mobile.”

“Are you sure about this Eggsy?”

“’course I am. And I’m not drunk or high either.” Two things happening not exactly rarely of late, what Merlin probably suspected. That was why Eggsy put extra emphasis on this. “Promise. Not my imagination. It is still there. Got it earlier.”

The line went silent again and Eggsy chewed impatiently on his lower lip. His feet started twitching under the table again. He would have loved nothing better than bombarding Merlin with a whole range of questions, but he kept his mouth shut to make clear that he really was sober and had his head on straight.

More seconds passed, feeling like an eternity.

“What did the text message say?” Merlin said eventually and something in his voice had changed. It was difficult to describe: a mixture of cautiousness, anxiety and cluelessness. For some reason, Eggsy felt like very few things could provoke this reaction in the experienced spy.  
Eggsy didn’t need to look at his phone and open the message – he had read and repeated the words so often already that they were inevitably etched in his memory. No matter the reason for this message; the scars would stay. “ _Did you visit my grave, Eggsy?”_

He had been wrong. He had imagined speaking with a steady voice after endlessly voicing these words in his head during the past half hour. Had the message included only one more word, his voice would have failed him.

Merlin’s breath escaped with a little hiss. He said nothing, making the situation even more unbearable. Eggsy ran his left hand through his short hair, scratching his fingernails over his scalp. He dug them in deeply, allowing the pain, before he said: “It’s about his grave. Harry’s grave.”  
His mouth was suddenly dry as dust. The day Harry Hart had been buried Eggsy had taken Meth for the first time in his life. He didn’t show up at the ceremony, didn’t even ask for the cemetery’s address. He had preferred to hide in a false wave of euphoria which ebbed away far too soon. Up to today, he couldn’t muster the strength to track it down to visit it.

Eggsy had to swallow two times before he could speak on.

“Merlin, where is it? I need to see it.”

A brief silence. “I think, we have a big problem,” the Kingsman said slowly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I didn't give Eggsy an accent. I'm sorry about this, but I have no idea what he talks like since I have only watched the film in German. I hope you don't mind this :)


	3. Letters From The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _One of these days letters are gonna fall_  
>  _From the sky telling us all to go free_  
>  _But until that day I'll find a way_  
>  _To let everybody know that you're coming back_  
>  _You're coming back for me_  
>  \- Civil Twilight; 'Letters From The Sky'

Only at the break of dawn Eggsy realized how tired he was. Another night he had not slept at all. The uncertainty about the message’s sender and its background strained his nerves even further. To crown it all, his stomach started to rumble. He was hungry and felt like he hadn’t eaten for an eternity. Paradoxically, he felt sick at the mere thought of the scent of a warm breakfast. This too, he blamed on his nervousness.

It’s been a long time since he had been in such a state. The last time his guts had tingled and prickled this way, he had been on Kingsman property and faced (and failed) his last test. Since then, he rarely felt this way. He just made himself scarce in a world consisting of sleeping and missing. No – he was wrong. The last time he felt these pins and needles inside of him hadn’t been on the Kingsman premises. The memories came back so suddenly and unexpectedly that his knees went weak and struggled to support the weight of his body. The last time had been in Harry’s house. The parting. Their last shared moment before Harry left for the US to follow Valentine’s tracks. His stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering for a single second.

From the moment Harry had received the call through to the Gentleman’s departure. Shortly after he had left, Eggsy had pinned it on his uncertain feelings, on these stupid butterflies all those girly magazines kept wittering on. He had always put this feeling down as bullshit - maybe because he had never felt it before. He had liked Harry’s company then more than ever. Not only because he felt the end of their time together approaching, but because it had been the first and only time they had seen each other _privately_ : Harry without a suit, just Harry, not Galahad, in his own home where Kingsman hadn’t invaded every single room. It had been a strange and intimate moment which had ended too fast. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t had feelings for Harry that moment. Maybe he had just ignored a presentiment of danger. _Maybe._

The fog cleared only slowly and made little room for the day’s first rays of dawn. They didn’t give off heat. London stayed cold and distant. Occasional shouts, interrupted by grunting laughter resounded from afar. A few teens on their way home stumbled through the streets. They didn’t waste a thought on the fact that they were walking in the middle of the road and a taxi could be on their heels any moment, nor they noticed Eggsy. A casual glance while walking past him, nothing more. Then, they went on, howling, moving like dancing puppets in the hands of an untrained puppeteer. Eggsy, on the other hand, gazed after them. Only when they disappeared behind the next corner, he turned his head again and stared at a spot between his shoes.

The laughter and hysterical giggling still got through to his ear from a distance and disturbed the peace of this far too early morning. Not all that long ago he had been just like them. Then, Harry had picked him up and steered his life in an entirely different direction. Back then, he had never wasted a single thought on suits. For him, they were merely flagships for snobs not only wanting to make themselves stand out from the lowlifes with their bespoke clothing, but also rub in their faces how miserable they were. During that one night, when he had been 16, he and his mates had drunken themselves into a stupor and stole a few eggs from a random supermarket. Of course, things didn’t stick at this little thievery.

As he left the shop, hands buried deep in his pockets and the little package with eggs hidden under his tracksuit top, his friends who had waited on the street with conspiratorial glances, gave him a pat on the back. Even though they could look back on more than a few delinquencies, they were little overexcited children that day, unable to stop the bubbling laughter once they left the store behind. This moment wasn’t the sole reason Gary Unwin became a young man named Eggsy.

In a set of three they loafed about on the pavement in front of The Savoy, poking each other in the ribs and listening to far too loud music. One of the employees – a penguin with a topper, looking like he came straight from a 50s’ movie – scrutinized them sullenly for about half an hour. Eventually, he tried to chase them off – to no avail. One of Eggsy’s friends, Jamal, leapt up to his feet like a young boxer and waved in direction of The Savoy.  
“Are Penguins allowed to roam the street now?” he smirked with one eyebrow raised and a feisty smile. “I thought, the pretty arses of little ghetto boys like me are enough for you when you’re bored!”

Eggsy exchanged a look that said _‘Fuck no, he didn’t!’_ with his mate Ryan and could barely stop himself from snorting with laughter. That crude comment finally made the Savoy employee’s patience snap. Just when he was about to take a few steps to chase them away like dirty mongrels, a tall man in a suit stepped out of the Hotel. While he was still smoothing out a wrinkle in his sleeve, his eyes were searching for the subservient employee who had the honour of opening the door of his shiny Rolls Royce for him today which was stopping in front of the main entrance in this moment. Eggsy and his pals took a back seat for a moment; the Savoy read every wish from their customer’s eyes and never let them wait for a second. After a last nasty look in the boys’ direction, the top-hatted penguin turned around and headed for the car. The perfect moment.

“Hey!” Eggsy shouted and stood up after Jamal had crouched down, hands propped up on his thighs, watching the scenario together with Ryan.  
“Hey, Mister! Sir!” Eggsy approached The Savoy and closed up on the Rolls Royce at that. As if he had crossed an invisible barricade, he immediately attracted everyone’s attention. Not due to his croaky calls – his breaking of the voice took it’s sweet time – but because he dared to enter that elitist atmosphere which consisted of words like ‘money’, ‘champagne’ and ‘caviar’, with his dirty sneakers.

“Sir, I believe you forgot something,” Eggsy continued and nodded at the suit-clad man. That one just looked him over with his eyebrows pulled together and remained silent. The employee did his best to ignore Eggsy, which he didn’t quite succeeded at, but Eggsy knew that once the Rolls Royce disappeared around the corner, he would kick their arses. Even though he had entirely focused back on his work, his gaze kept flicking over the car’s roof to Eggsy.  
The boy suddenly stretched out his hand and pointed at the impeccable fabric of the snob’s suit.

“There, I think you missed a stain,” he said and kept pointing at the shoulder of the Savoy-guest. Eggsy’s face didn’t give away that he was joking in the slightest. A poker face that had a visible effect, because there was nothing worse for a bloke like that Rolls Royce-bod than having flaws. Flaws needed to be eradicated and had a higher ranking on the hate-list than ‘beggars’ and ‘pigeons’. When both men gave into their curiousness to catch a glimpse of the alleged stain, Eggsy reached into the pockets of his jacket. In each of them he had stored two eggs that he held carefully in his hands.

Everything happened so fast that not even Jamal could blurt out an excited “Shit!”. In one single movement, while all eyes were lying on the suit-clad shoulders, Eggsy hurled all four eggs through the air. He was good; he never missed. They burst with a dull slosh on the stranger’s body and stained the bespoke suit which was probably more expensive that Eggsy’s rent for half a year. Egg yolk was running down the dark fabric in slow motion, but before the topper-penguin could walk around the car to break the boys’ spines they had escaped down the road, cackling and imitating a chicken.  
A little prank that got him stuck with a silly name for the rest of his life. At least, that was what he told everyone. The true story behind his nickname belonged only to his father and him and had died with Lee Unwin.

Eggsy wished he could have preserved that moment in a photograph. Back then, there weren’t mobiles with cameras yet which made it possible to record every meal, every fashion disaster and every other mundane pettiness for eternity. We used to rely on our own memories; now we forget everything once we uploaded it on Instagram. We only remember thing we took a picture of – how stupid that more than half of those are selfies. There wasn’t a blurred photograph of that little mess, but plenty of lively memories, spreading out in full detail in front of his inner eye whenever he wished for it. Until today, he still remembered the bruises he got from a parking car’s wing mirror because he kept turning around to look at the Savoy, giggling and in high spirits thanks to the adrenaline.

Now, Eggsy clung onto memories as well. There were fresh, with lush colours and happened only a few weeks – or was it months already by now? He had lost his sense of time. All these memories revolved around that one man, the man because of whom he was now standing on the pavement in front of the Highgate Cemetery. He had dark rings around his eyes, shoulders pulled up high to keep the cold morning breeze away and his hands buried deep in his pockets. The shape of his mobile phone was more or less burned in the palm of his hand by now. Ever since Merlin asked him to come here, Eggsy hadn’t put it away for a second. He didn’t expect any more calls from Merlin. He hoped that the little phone would vibrate and show Harry’s name on the display again. He wanted nothing more than another sign of life from the dead man. He was glad, he hadn’t voiced that thought or he would have felt like he was in an episode of _Ghost Whisperer._

Eggsy’s toes began to feel numb in his thin sneakers, even though the temperature seemed to rise every minute. It took another thirty minutes, though until a dark taxi approached the cemetery. Anybody could sit in there. Merlin. A random Kingsman who could stick an amnesia dart into Eggsy’s neck and get the mobile off him. Or simply an old lady who wanted to visit her late husband after a cup of coffee. Eggsy was alert to every single possibility and stared at the car’s door, his eyebrows pulled together as the cab stopped. He was grabbing the mobile tight until he felt the cheap plastic bending. Only then he loosened his grip a tiny bit. When the door finally opened, Eggsy saw nothing but a leather boot at first. A moment later, his guess was confirmed and an uneasy feeling spread in his gut. It was Roxy. Merlin didn’t come here himself but sent Roxy – or Lancelot, now – instead. For Eggsy she was and would always be Rox and he hoped strongly that she also came here as such; as friend who wanted to comfort him silently as he was visiting the grave and not as Kingsman Lancelot with ulterior motives and a mission.

“Rox,” he called silently, but didn’t move an inch. She closed the cab’s door, followed the sound of his voice and turned her head in his direction. When their eyes met, the hard and grim expression on Roxy’s face vanished for a second. Everything about her suddenly seemed to be softer. Her joy of seeing Eggsy again made little dimples appear around the corners of her mouth.

“Eggsy, hey!” Her outfit was similar to the one she had worn at their first meeting: sophisticated, elitist and she could have mounted a horse anytime to hunt foxes with the Royals. “God, I’m _so_ glad to see you.” She emphasised the word with a tiny sigh. Something in her eyes changed for a second; so fleetingly that Eggsy thought he imagined it at first, but it made one thing clear for him: Roxy knew of this ‘problem’ Merlin had mentioned cryptically on the phone without explaining further. “I almost didn’t pick up my phone when merlin called, because I just arrived from-“

“Well, you aren’t the only one, there,” he interrupted her a little too harshly, because he was still angry with Merlin. When he looked at her, lips pressed together firmly, he instantly felt bad. If Harry had lived, he would have annoyed her with stupid texts all day, trying to get information on her secret missions, even though he knew she wasn’t allowed to tell him anything. But currently, Kingsman was a sore spot in his heart. He couldn’t take any more pain. He didn’t want any small implications from Rox. He wanted to know where Harry’s grave was – without her he couldn’t find it. After noticing that he arrived far too early at the cemetery, he started looking for it, his heart beating fast and his eyes twitching restlessly, but to no avail. There were a lot of _Harry's_ , even a few _Hart's_ , but not a single _Harry Hart_.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to-,” she started, looking at this face. Roxy Morton wasn’t a shy girl, looking ashamedly on the floor, stuttering. No, she always looked her counterpart straight in the eye. Even now, when she sensed that she had said the wrong thing, but didn’t know what the right words were, either.

Eggsy interrupted her again: “No, no. _I_ am sorry, Rox, so sorry,” he gulped. “I just slept awfully,” he lied, “and this whole story…” His voice broke as he wondered what he meant. Harry’s death? V-Day? The text message? His relapse and his time with drugs and alcohol? The insomnia slowly driving him insane? He could have gone on forever. “Sorry,” he said again after a while, quietly, embarrassedly and with tears in his eyes which he hid from her by lowering his gaze and staring at a bunch of grass between the cobblestones.

“It’s alright, Eggsy.” Her voice was suddenly very close. Unobtrusively, she had closed the distance between them and closed in on him stealthily – a real spy, after all. When she tightened her arms around him and pulled him into a warm, intimate hug, a knot deep within him finally dissolved. The feeling keeping him from breathing suddenly disappeared. Eggsy silently gasped for air; a small, choked sound against Roxy’s shoulder before a hoarse sob escaped his mouth. He was ashamed. He didn’t want her to see him this way. Her hand – small and warm – found its way to the back of his head and started to softly stroke his hair; an affectionate side of Roxy that he never expected her to have that woke warm memories of his childhood in him.

When the trembling in his body slowly subsided and his sobbing started to sound like a simple hiccup, Roxy whispered with an audible smile in her voice: “I promised to hold onto you when your parachute doesn’t open, remember Eggsy? I am here. I am here with you.” After that, her voice became more serious. It was Lancelot who was talking now.

“Merlin sent me to show you the grave… and explain everything."

Eggsy’s fingertips gently dug into Roxy’s shoulders to push her away a bit. With tired and red eyes, he looked at her, his lips parted to demand answers, to throw an “Explain _what_?” at her, but the crying had made his voice dry and he didn’t manage to utter a single word. Roxy reached for his hand and squeezed it. Then, she pulled him with her and walked through the cemetery’s gate.

At first glance, they seemed like a young couple, side by side; teenagers, who snuck out of their family homes to exchange kisses with only the dead watching, But the truth was that they drifted further apart with every step bringing them closer to Harry’s grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even tell you how sorry I am for making you all wait for so long, but life kinda punched me in the face. At first, I had my final exams to write, and after graduation I wanted to start writing mor, but I had applications to hand in and then I was abroad for an internship for 6 weeks... So here's the translation of chapter 3 (better late that never... *cough*)


	4. It Takes A Lot To Know A Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It takes a lot to know a man_  
>  _A lot to know, to understand_  
>  _The father and the son_  
>  _The hunter and the gun_  
>  Damien Rice; 'It takes a lot to know a man'

For a few minutes, they walked side by side wordlessly. Crossed the cemetery on narrow paths, each step rustling. This was the only sound that rose against the silence, forcing it down. Humans rarely were so quiet for such a long time. Many couldn't bear it; Harry had told him this one day almost in passing. Sometimes, it was already enough to remain silent with angelic patience to draw the required information from someone. It rarely worked on spies, but normal people would cave in to the silence eventually. Eggsy, hands deep in his pockets and cheeks still flushed from that short, emotional attack, remained silent. Not to get Roxy to finally reveal what everybody made such a secret of. Eggsy was silent because he enjoyed the silence. For the first time in weeks, those thoughts of fear, pain and blame became still. To show weakness in front of Roxy gave him the chance to breathe. For this moment, at least.

It was Roxy who broke the silence. "We missed you at the funeral." Her voice was heavy but neutral. She didn't look him in the eye but had her head turned away, squinting against the emerging shafts of sunlight and staring into the distance. Focusing on a spot, just so she didn't have to look Eggsy in the eye. "This isn't supposed to be an accusation. I understand why you didn't come. If I were you, I would have pushed this day to the back of my mind as good as I could as well. But we missed you." He interpreted this 'we' as 'Merlin and I'. Those two were inseparable since Arthur's death and the shifts within the Kingsmen.

A soft, sudden exhalation through the nose - _I am sorry, I couldn't_ – then Eggsy hunched his shoulders, shivering, and looked into the opposite direction to watch a bird that ploughed through the leaves on a grave excitedly and hastily. "It was impossible," he said quietly. "Funerals were never my thing." His memories of his own childhood were as if someone had erased them. He remembered mere fragments of his first nine years, only his father's funeral he couldn't forget. All of his mother's tears. That sea of black; all the people in mourning who cried even harder when they saw him, in his tiny suit, standing by his father's grave. The weeks in which his mother couldn't leave her bed, in which she was sedated by pills and in which he feared he would lose her as well. That feeling to be living on a razor-edge was omnipresent. For him, funerals caused panic attacks even if he barely knew the person in the coffin. Harry's funeral would have left him in a situation similar to his mother's seventeen years ago. He didn't want to do this to her or his little sister. Next to all these honourable reasons, there was one other high up on the list: he didn't want to watch the man he loved being buried six feet in the ground. "I have no experience with this, what do you say in conversations after a funeral? _I hope it was nice?_ Or _What did you think of the arrangement of flowers, Roxanne?_ Although _The weather was excellent, you were really luck_ is more suitable." London didn't cry when Harry Hart was buried.

Pained, Roxy grimaced. She knew that he was only trying to provoke her because he was overwhelmed by his own feelings. In every other situation, in every other conversation, she would have given him contra; they would have had a short row and minutes later, all would have been as before. Those missing hours of sleep and the last mission that still gripped her to the marrow had robbed her of the necessary strength to give Eggsy the chance to heat up this conversation so he could let out his frustrations on her. "The weather was really nice," she said, tired, and kept squinting against the rising sun. After the last word faded away, she sighed softly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "The funeral still wasn't one worthy of a Kingsman. It's all a shame. In my opinion. But even Merlin didn't look content. Galahad … _Harry_ … He was buried like … like …" She was looking for the right words and didn't find them.

Eggsy, who would have always been ready to start an argument with Roxy – which she would have never held against him – noticed the subtle change in her tone. "Like who? What do you mean?" He had stopped and was pressing his fingernails deep into his palms, staring at the back of Roxy's head. Only after a few more metres did she stop as well and turned in is direction. Her arms close to her body, palms facing towards him, desperate.  
"Nobody was there, Eggsy. Merlin and I. Nobody else. Harry was buried like a person nobody cares about and who's found four months after their death in their flat because of the 'strange smell'. Like someone who nobody misses."  
_I miss him_ , flashed through Eggsy's mind and he bit his lower lip. _Always_. "What about the Kingsmen? Percival? Gawain? The others? Where were they?" In his stomach, a fist of anger built itself. Harry had spoken so well of, had raved about his longstanding colleagues. And they didn't even bring themselves to pay their last respects to him.

"Not there," Roxy said bitterly and a steep line formed between her eyebrows. "It's not their fault. Not Merlin's either, who insisted that they didn't come. After V Day, internal security was raised and it's no longer allowed for several agents to be at the same place. One well-planned attack could bring about the downfall of the whole organisation. But that's not what makes me angry." She glanced at him and for a second he feared she would point at him and accuse him of not being any better than Harry's Kingsman friends. After a short pause, in which Roxy swallowed and licked her dry lips, she continued. Her voice had calmed. "Did you know that Harry had family? I'm not talking about parents or siblings but about a _wife_. About _children_. He had an actual family, Eggsy."

The blood rushed menacingly in Eggsy's ears and swallowed Roxy's last words. This was a moment in which he would have liked to sit down. To press his back against a stiff backrest and to take a breath. The knot in his throat was back and Eggy could feel that he was close to gasping for air again like a drowning man. "What?," was the only word he could utter, short of breath. Inconspicuously, he took a step to the side, pushed the leaves aside with the tips of his shoes and held onto a gravestone with his left hand. The cold licked over his skin which helped him to become calmer.  
One look to Roxy signalled her that he wanted an answer. Immediately. "Harry was married for twenty-four years," she explained in a neutral voice without moving from the spot. Her eyes remained on Eggsy's face which was void of all colour. "Merlin wouldn't tell me the specifics – actually, he didn't want to tell me anything about Harry's private life, but I got wind of it when his ex-wife sent back the letter regarding Harry's funeral with a few lines. Apparently, they've been divorced for about ten years." Roxy made a face. "Apparently no good ending to their relationship if I interpret her words correctly."  
"And ... children? He never mentioned them. Not once." Franticly, he searched his memories of Harry's house but he couldn't remember a single family picture. Lots of snapshots of travels and gatherings with friends and Kingsman agents. No happy family pictures, no childrens' drawings or anything else of sentimental value. At least nothing that would have caught his eye.

"I'm not surprised," Roxy said and her undertone had something in it that could hurt. "Two daughters. Twenty and eighteen. They broke off all contact after the divorce. For them, their father died ten years ago. They wouldn't even dream of coming to the funeral. None of them." Faintly and chokingly: "He didn't deserve that." Words that might as well have been Eggsy's. _He didn't deserve that_ , Roxy's voice echoed through his mind. No, he didn't.

That chaos of emotions was back. Harry had had a family and had never mentioned them. Not in all those months in which they had been friends. Eggsy felt a cool shiver between his shoulder blades; was it possible that he had never really known his mentor? Eggsy had always been an open book without any secrets for Harry. However, how little he had known about Harry dawned on him painfully now, on Highgate Cemetery. Harry probably had reserved such intimate information for people he sincerely trusted. Merlin had belonged to that close circle. Eggsy, apparently, not. The question why his family had broken off contact to Harry in this extreme manner was another fact that bothered him and didn't let go. He could understand his wife's hatred – divorces never ended well, even if some people claimed that they did – but the reaction of his daughters unsettled him. Harry must have had done something that had burned the relationship to the girls down to the ground.

Were there aspects of him that he had deliberately kept hidden from Eggsy? The idea that there had been another, darker Harry Hart tipped Eggsy over the edge. He tasted bile on his tongue and swallowed hard. Shortly before he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the stranger's gravestone, he saw that Roxy wanted to come closer out of the corner of his eye. He raised a hand, gently shook his head, indicating to her that this time, he didn't need her shoulder to cry on. He just needed a few minutes to digest this information and to breathe. Harry Hart had been a father of two. Divorced. And his family had hated him so abysmally that they hadn't even wanted to face him in his coffin. How much he wanted to talk to Harry about all of this.

"Even though they met him with so much hate while he was still alive, he bequeathed them everything." While Eggsy was still leaning on the gravestone with his eyes closed and was blocking out his surroundings, Roxy kept talking, unperturbed. "And do you know what they replied? We should give it to the Salvation Army or simply burn the whole house. They don't want any of it. They don't even want to see it. Merlin is currently trying to push through an alternative version of the will, but apparently, Harry only composed that one in the months before his death and didn't sign it. The notary insists on the official testament that was deposited with him and according to which his ex-wife and children get everything. And believe me, just based on that short message I'm convinced that they will eventually turn up and _really_ burn everything without hesitating just one sec-"  
"What is in the other will?" Eggsy didn't need an answer, he already had an inkling.  
"Harry wanted you as the sole heir," said Roxy and Eggsy nodded absentmindedly and distractedly.  
Eggsy took a deep breath and counted 'til ten in his mind: one. Two. Three. Four. Five. One day, he couldn't name the date, Harry and he had had a strange conversation over a glass of whiskey, which he now suddenly remembered.

**________________________________________**

_'Good thing that Daisy can't see this.'_  
_'What?'_  
_'Your wall with butterflies.' A throaty laugh burst out. 'She would take all displays from the wall, get the dead animals out of them and put them in her hair.'_  
Harry smirked and a small laugh that didn't leave his lips but made his upper body tremble caused a strangely tingling feeling in Eggsy's stomach region.  
_'She is welcome to have them one day. Once I don't need them anymore, they will be more valuable in the hands of a child than on my walls.'_  
_'Harry, those must have cost a fortune. You don't want that they're worn as hair jewellery by a toddler and make the title page of the Sun like that. Believe me.' Both joined in in relaxed, loud laughter. The idea was too beautiful._  
_'Thank you, Eggsy, for your nonexisting trust in my judgement,' a small half-smile, a challenging look over his glasses, 'but if I can make Daisy happy like this, I won't mourn after a single butterfly. All things must pass, Eggsy. In Daisy's hands, these things still have value. I would give both of you everything without hesitation. The butterflies, this house.'_

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

 _'Harry-'_  
_'Don't interrupt me, Eggsy. I am serious. For me, these are only walls; for you it could be a fresh start. For me, these butterflies are simply collectibles which I only look at fleetingly now. For Daisy, they are the highlight of a day. At times, it is important to free yourself from some things when you realise that they can move so much more in the hands of another. And now, let's change the topic. I can see that you are not used to serious conversations accompanied by alcohol.'_  
_The warmth in Harry's eyes brought a smile to Eggsy's lips that he couldn't resist. 'Normally, the people I drink with want to sing karaoke,' he said, grinning._  
_'God forbid. It will never come to that with me.'_  
_'Too bad. "Pretty Woman" would be the perfect song for you, Harry.'_  
_A reproachful sound with his tongue. 'No more alcohol for you, Eggsy.'_  
_'But Harry!' And again, they joined in loud laughter that pushed away Harry's words._

**________________________________________**

"I don't want it." It felt wrong as soon as he said it. He didn't want it. But he also didn't want that it went to people who would hate and despise every single inch of it.  
"We guessed as much. Merlin still hoped you would accept it and transfer the property and the house to the Kingsmen. But as I said: nothing's certain yet. Officially, it all belongs to his ex-wife and the children."  
"Good." He opened his eyes and looked at Roxy. "Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Why you made such a fucking secret of it? You just want me to fight for a testament that favours me as heir, so that the Kingsmen can have a new playground?"  
"I wish it was like that, Eggsy. I wish this were the only reason why I'm here." She stared at him wordlessly. Nobody looked away and chickened out. "Are you coming? We're almost there." Without waiting for a reply, Roxy set out again for the grave. The leaves whispered with every single step of hers. And Eggsy could only think of Daisy and the dead butterflies that Harry had wanted to give to her. Because his own daughters never would have accepted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, different translator here aka Shiku!  
> Just a few words about myself: English isn't my native tongue either and I'm also not a professional translator, so ... things might not be perfect and sometimes, it just comes down to a) translate it very close to the source text but not being sure how to properly use the English, or b) to don't stick quite as close to the source text but being sure about the English. I usually go with option b, for readability and all that. So sorry about this, but I hope you're enjoying Brona's story nonetheless!
> 
> (And about the accents etc.: I'm not great with them either, so Eggsy just ... talks. But you can read it in the characters's accents yourself. :D)


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You said you don't have to speak_  
>  _I can hear you_  
>  _I can't feel all the things you've ever felt before_  
>  _I said it's been a long time_  
>  _Since someone looked at me that way_  
>  _It's like you knew me_  
>  _And all the things I couldn't say_  
>  The XX; 'Together'

This one image wouldn't let him go. Now that Roxy had uncovered this particular moment from his memory with her words and the mention of the will, he couldn't repress it anymore. It was there like the bloody, bare gap left by a missing tooth in your mouth – your tongue would keep getting back and back again to slide over and press against the wound. A simple reflex, even pain wouldn't keep you from doing it. It felt the same with those images in his mind. With the evening that had belonged to only Harry and him. The first of many shared evenings.

**________________________________________**

The dimmed light in the whole house had conveyed a feeling of warmth and safety from the very first second. They were sitting in casual clothing at the dining table like two old, longstanding friends and were silent together. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence you would want to banish with the noise of unnecessary movements or by clearing your throat. The silence felt sacred; there weren't many people in whose company the silence was bearable. To be silent with Harry after long conversations and laughter felt like a tight embrace after a wild night. The table that stood between them was the only obstacle to inching forward and seeing whether this embrace would be possible in reality as well. Eggsy's eyes wandered from the butterfly walls to Harry's face. Because of the light he couldn't see the older one's eyes. His glasses reflected the light and looked like an inferno, trapped in two small lenses. And even though Harry had his head bowed as if he were tired and exhausted, Eggsy saw the curve around the corner of Harry's mouth. It wasn't the first time they sat together like this, but Eggsy still feared to annoy Harry with his presence after a few hours. This small, secret smile that maybe wasn't even meant for Eggsy to see chased away all of these worries.

Harry wet the tip of his index finger on his lower lip and turned one page over. For more than one hour he had been intently studying an illustrated book on Roman architecture and art. Nodded at this part, uttered a deep, velvety "Mhm" at that part or was completely transfixed by the pictures. Then he often leaned back on his hair, his shoulder blades pressed tightly against the wooden backrest and his hands put closely around the open book like a frame. Sometimes he took off his glasses, stared at one spot above the window frame and, in his mind, seemed to walk among these monument he had just cast his eyes on. Eggsy watched all of this attentively, fascinated; enjoyed that Harry was entirely engrossed by his books during those times and forgot everything around him. A passion he hadn't expected to see in the Kingsman. Eggsy had often been afraid that one would harden so much over time as part of the organisation that one would lose all appreciation for fragile things. That the sensation of weapons in your hand would replace the need for human closeness. Cold steel instead of tingling goose bumps. When he saw Harry like this, he knew that that wasn't the case. This man here on the chair, with fine, grey streaks in his thick hair could fight and take on death. But he could also shed said death to melt in the heat of life. 

Eggsy had spent the last hours of the evening following nullities on his phone. Harry had offered him one of his books – "They all speak their own language, you only have to listen, Eggsy" – but he had declined with thanks. He liked to read, that wasn't why. People never saw him like that but under his creaky bed with the crooked slatted frame, well-thumbed books were piling up – nonfiction, novels, children's stories, saucy pulp fiction to romances about pirates with naked upper bodies – well, everything he had somehow dragged up over the years. Sometimes he had stolen it, sometimes he had found an abandoned copy on the bus. Whatever he was given he read, plunged into these written worlds and felt with every single character. Even with those pirates and their princesses short of breath who could faint at any second. And still he had refused Harry's offer with a shake of his head. Eggsy knew he wouldn't have been able to read a single line. In Harry's company he would have to read and reread each page – and when he'd turn the page, he still wouldn't know what he just read. And so he sought refuge in the excuse that he'd rather play on his phone or text his friends. An excuse. That's what it was. He kept scrolling up and down, typed "asdfghjkl" every now and then into an empty address bar, or randomly clicked on something; he didn't look. Eggsy's eyes stayed on Harry. The whole evening. Whenever the other one looked at him over his glasses, he inevitably flinched a little and intently stared at his small phone screen and laughed at things he had supposedly read. He didn't even realise the battery of his phone eventually died.

The ticking of the clock had become a monotone, relaxing background noise. Eggsy put his phone on the table with its display down, made himself comfortable on his chair and tilted his head. "Harry," he said after a while and raised his voice a little at the end. _Harry, can I bother you for a moment?_ Calmly, without haste, as if they had all the time in the world. None of them cared that it was past two in the morning already.

Harry took his time before he reacted. Kept looking at the images of Roman buildings and followed up with a mumbling sound, with a "Hmh?" without looking up.  
"I just realised that I never had something like this before."  
Harry, who was about to turn a page, left his hand stuck between two pages and turned to face Eggsy. "What do you mean, Eggsy?"

"Well," he hummed and hawed and made a sweeping gesture with both hands, "all of this. Stuff like that." Now he waved his hands between Harry and himself. Suddenly realised how strange this looked - _Harry and him!_ – and instantly stopped again. "I mean ..." He didn't know what he meant. And he regretted he had said anything at all. "Go on," Harry encouraged him with a soft expression in his eyes. He had taken off his glasses and placed them on his book. The passion and interest in Harry's eyes was now only meant for Eggsy.

"This," faintly, almost sheepishly. "I never had something like this. Just sitting together in a room and reading. Everybody is on their own without being _lonely_. When I'd been reading outside my room, there was always someone to make a nasty comment. Dean, who thinks reading is only for women." (Harry huffed indignantly.) "Even my mother, who'd rather I help her or do something for her instead of staying in one spot for hours with a book. But most of the time they just had those awful talent shows on or some talk show in which people would like to rip each other's heads off." He didn't know why he'd used the past sense. If he were to go home now, in this moment, the living room would be illuminated by the flickering lights of the TV. Daisy, who'd have fallen asleep in the twitchy glow of an infomercial, while Dean would have his hands on parts of his mother that would make Eggsy clench his fists. It wasn't in the past even if t felt like it. It was the present.

"You can come to me at all times when you want to read a book in peace, Eggsy," Harry said with raised eyebrows. There was a hint of doubt in his voice. After all, the boy had vehemently refused a book just earlier and had rather stared at his phone.  
"That's not it." Eggsy stroked the back of his neck, couldn't sit still. "I just wanted to thank you. This here ..." He bit his lower lip. Made a small pause as if he hoped that Harry would interrupt him to say 'That's all right, Eggsy.' But the older Brit was still sitting facing him with an open expression and watched Eggsy, who usually never struggled for words, fidget and stammer. He seemed embarrassed. Harry noticed that he didn't know this side of Eggsy. "This feels good," Eggsy finally said and it had been obviously difficult for him to get these words past his lips. "I don't want pity – there are people out there who have it much worse than I do – and I'm actually good, I have a roof over my head, _Daisy_ , but –"

"Eggsy," Harry interrupted him with a smile. "Speak your mind."  
But that was just it. He didn't know how to express this feeling inside of him. Words wouldn't encompass it, it slipped away from him like smoke he tried to catch. Abashedly and with red ears, Eggsy looked down at his hands, which rested in his lap. He didn't blink. His lips were a thin line on his face which was void of all colour. He felt Harry's eyes on his skin: boiling hot and piercing.

"The last time I felt like this," Eggsy mumbled and kept his eyes downcast, "was – at least I think so – when my father was still alive. I love my mother. And Daisy. But _this here_. This feels like back then. When the world was somehow still … _whole_." He raised his eyes and faced Harry, who saw the shimmer in the boy's eyes; unshed tears, a person's most honest words. "Does that sound incoherent? If so, I bet it's your whiskey's fault."

Harry laughed quietly and picked up his glasses with both hands, just to busy himself with something. Opened the stems. Closed them. Prepared the words in his head, discarded them and chose new ones. Deep in his heart, there was this tiny, sharp pain he didn't want to show Eggsy. "No, I understand what you mean, Eggsy," he answered and emphasised his words with a small nod. "Since Lee's death, you didn't have a proper father figure and your feelings -"

"No," Eggsy interrupted him, his voice louder than intended. "That's not it." When the eyes of both men met, Harry noticed how hurt Eggsy looked. Silence fell in the room that waited for Eggsy to start talking again. But now he lacked words altogether. He looked up to Harry, yes. Maybe he'd really taken his father's empty place to some degree while Dean's filth and stench still lingered there. But did he also see Harry as something like a father? _No_. There was more. More than he wanted to admit in this moment. More than he wanted to say. Much less could. "I'm – I'm sorry, it was probably the whiskey after all that mixed a few things up." Eggsy tried to dissolve the tense mood by giving a throaty, loud laugh and by shooting Harry an _it's nothing_ look with difficulty. His mentor smiled in response. No words, just a smile. Just a soft, tired smile that reflected in the warm and familiar expression in his eyes.

"I know with advancing age you don't need that much sleep anymore, so ..." He pushed back his chair, as loudly as possible, and drew himself up to his full height. "If you don't mind, I'd like to sleep a few hours on the sofa in the guest room and take a taxi home around six. At this time, taxi drivers always think they are allowed to charge double the normal rate," Eggsy clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. That strange, hot feeling in his stomach was still there. No matter how hyper he now pretended to be to distract from the previous conversation. "You can keep browsing your illustrated books. I really need some sleep now. Is that okay, Harry?"

"Go ahead, Eggsy. Go and get your beauty rest," he said in a provoking tone of voice and put the black-rimmed glasses back on his nose.  
One hand on the doorframe already, Eggsy paused and turned his upper body back towards the Kingsman, who sat in a dark blue dressing gown in his small dining room and was slightly hunched over his book. "Good night, Harry."  
He didn't look up, was back in Rome and times beyond. "Good night, Eggsy."

Squinting slightly, Harry was trying to make out the details on the gates of a Roman church when he felt a cool breeze on his cheek. Before he could react, he felt warm, soft lips pressing against his left temple. A small kiss, so fleeting as if his mind was playing tricks on him. When the touch ended, Harry turned his face towards Eggsy and they looked at each other. Eggsy's cheeks were red and splotchy; Harry felt his heart stutter. He hadn't anticipated this. After Eggsy's stammering he had been so sure that he was just a father substitute for the younger one – not someone he could truly _love_. Now his rational world was upside down. Didn't make sense anymore.

"Please, say nothing. Don't make it more uncomfortable for me than it already is," Eggsy suddenly said with a vulnerability in his voice that unexpectedly moved Harry. He'd love to get up, to grasp the younger one's wrist and to pull him against him. But Eggsy's sudden action had transformed Harry into one of the statues from his book he'd marvelled at during the past hours. He couldn't move. Only a wretched, unbelieving blink behind his glasses. Eggsy took a few jittery steps out of the dining room, shoulders hunched as if he was expecting a verbal attack and rejection at any point; Dean would have punished this Eggsy, who furtively and shyly kissed another man's face, with punches and kicks. Tomorrow, Eggsy would maybe blame the whiskey and the time. And Harry would smile and nod and hate himself for not putting his fingers around the young one's wrist to stop him from leaving. To hold him. To hold this moment.

"Good night, Harry. Sleep well."  
"Good night, Eggsy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anybody else want to tell Harry to get a move on?
> 
> (And it's been a month since the last chapter ... sorry 'bout that. But let's ignore _me_ and look at what Harry's doing. And Brona. Did I tell you she enjoys it to make us suffer?)


End file.
